


Concerto In E Minor

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Tiger's Tumblr Ficlets [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blow Jobs, Competition, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, violin porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock make a wager, to test Sherlock’s concentration and resilience. </p>
<p>It is entirely unclear who wins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concerto In E Minor

“And if I win?”

“You won’t.”

“If I do, though?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and twirled the bow in a circle with his fingertips. “You won’t win, John. I’ve been playing this piece since I was sixteen. The only time I’ve ever slipped up in my fingering,” John snorted a small laugh, and crossed his legs a bit tighter after making a slight adjustment. “Was when I was doing a recital while I had the flu. You. Won’t. Win.” 

John saluted with his can, before draining the rest of his beer. “You ride.” he murmured with a smirk. 

“Beg pardon?”

“That’s what I will win. If I can do this, I want you to ride me. On the desk.”

The bow slipped from Sherlock’s fingers, and he just managed to catch it before it hit the floor. “If-“

“When.”

“ _If_ you win… You want me…” He pointed the bow at the desk, which was cluttered with papers, and random objects that the men had collected over the years. 

John pushed himself up from his seat, and set the can down on the coffee table. He licked a bit of foam from the corner of his mouth, and nodded. “Yes. When I win, I want you to bounce on my lap, and come all over my chest.” 

Clearing his throat, Sherlock gave a jerky nod, and lifted the violin to his chin. 

He was slow, to start. His fingers-made nimble with practice- teased out the most _delicious_ sounds, just from testing the tension of the strings. Spine arched back, he let himself sink into the composition. The faint musty scent of rosin drifted through the air as his bow flashed. Slow, shallow, and careful to start, he brought about a quiet moan. 

John contented himself to watch for a few moments, lazily palming himself through his jeans. When Sherlock began playing in earnest, he went to the desk, and took out the small bottle of lubricant he kept in the drawer on his side. He could feel his partner’s eyes on him as he moved. 

Sherlock’s eyes drifted shut, playing the piece from memory. His breathing quickened, just from the exhilaration of the music. Not wanting the game to come to an end so quickly, John was quiet as he knelt on the floor. He left Sherlock’s bottoms alone, pressing his mouth to the sharp jut of his hips. It had been a lazy day, and the musician hadn’t bothered to change out of his pajamas. The cloth was thin, and John could smell the heady, salty warmth coming up from between Sherlock’s thighs. Nosing up against scoop of his pelvis, John nipped gently. When he drew back, there was already a noticeable swelling happening. 

“You’re not going to win.” Sherlock mumbled again, barely heard over his violin. 

“If you say so, dear.” John chuckled low in his throat, and slipped his fingers under the waistband of the flannel bottoms. He had to pull the band out, to peel them down Sherlock’s legs. His cock swayed free- long, slim, with an upward curve. The scent grew stronger. Humming softly to the tune, John rubbed his cheek along the length. It was still dry, and velvety soft over its rigidity. His small hands smoothed up the lean lines of Sherlock’s thighs, stroking wandering circles. Looking up, he darted out his tongue, and lapped over the tip. 

Above him, Sherlock gasped, but did not lose his place in the composition. 

John loved the smell. He pressed his nose into the fragrant skin of his groin, and licked. He peppered little kisses back and forth across Sherlock’s lap, before finally returning his attention to his erection. Closing his lips around the head, he sipped gently. His tongue swirled around the crown, sneaking under the tight foreskin. Having forgone a shower that morning, Sherlock tasted like coffee and salt and sweat. Groaning, John worked his way down until he felt the nudging at the back of his throat. 

“Was that a missed note?”

Glaring, Sherlock twitched his hips, seeking John’s mouth again. Taking a moment to wipe away a laugh, John parted his lips, and allowed Sherlock to thrust between them. He held himself still, giving the younger man silent permission to use his mouth how he wanted. Relaxing his throat as best as he could, he reached out to grab the lube. 

“No. It wasn’t.” Sherlock grunted, spreading his legs. 

Grinning around the intrusion, John poured some of the lube onto his hand, rubbing it around with his fingers to warm up. Cupping and cradling Sherlock’s rounded sac in his palm, he pressed his fingers back to part the full swells of his arse. Widening his lips in anticipation, he teased the tip of one finger against his partner’s puckered hole. It fluttered and clenched before relaxing enough to give John entrance. 

As expected, Sherlock cried out and thrust forward. His bow skipped and skittered across the strings, before he let it drop to the floor. He kept his grip on the neck of the violin, but grabbed the back of John’s head to stay steady. 

Adding a second finger, John’s cheeks hollowed as he sucked and pulled. When his fingers caressed the smooth prostate, he felt a quick pulse of pre-come coat his tongue. 

Sherlock pulled the violin away from his chin, but John stopped him before he could put it aside. “What are you…?” 

John pressed the instrument to Sherlock’s abdomen, with the curved lower bout resting on the base of of his cock. He continued to move his two fingers in relentless circles over the sensitive gland. With a wicked grin, he pulled back enough that he was mouthing just the head. He caught and held Sherlock’s eyes, and stroked one finger down the E string until he reached the waist. Hooking his nail under the string, he gave it a sharp pluck. 

The vibration sent shudders down the length of Sherlock’s cock, enough that John could feel it shake and tremor in his mouth. Deep inside the man’s body, the note carried through to John’s fingers. 

Sherlock’s legs nearly buckled, and he let out a loud shout. His nails dragged over John’s scalp. 

The doctor came close to gagging, his mouth was filling faster than he could swallow. Bitter come trickled out from the corners of his lips, dripping off of his chin. Pulling off with a wet cough, he scrubbed at his face with the back of his forearm. Gasping for breath, he rose fluidly to his feet, and popped open the flies of his jeans. He took the violin, and carefully set it back into its case before sweeping away the papers from the desk. 

“I win.”


End file.
